Forgetting Draco Malfoy
by Maura Belle
Summary: Draco is the sole survivor of a massacre, taken in by a Muggle family, with no memory of where he came from. To the Wizarding World, he was dead. To the Muggles, he was just another member of the family. Chapter 4.
1. Taken Away and Taken In

"Where's the young Malfoy, Lucius?" A cold man turned at the sound of his name, disgust gracing his features.

"Are you calling me old?" He asked, dryly. He received a barrage of apologies from the plump little man, who was, supposedly, one of his friends since school. In truth, a hateful man had no friends, just people who clung to him in adoration and longing. To be like him, to have that scowl and frown and be able to turn someone down with a simple glance was a goal among many and Lucius, because of it and his subtle talents, became "popular". His son had inherited so much from him: looks, and a spot of his personality, that same arrogance and pride. From his mother, he dare not say. They discarded such things as kindness and heart and buried them underneath a coat of black, which Draco had worn everyday.

"I was just trying to ask where Draco was, sir," The man tried respect now. Well, it wouldn't work. No one could weasel anything of him; not Lucius; no. 

"I don't know. I've been looking for him, but he seems to be lost…" Lucius said calmly, looking through the gray fog that had settled on the forest. His son was out there somewhere, wandering, cold, probably dead by now. 

"We should send a search party, then." Lucius shook his head.

"He'll turn up. He's pulled pranks like this before, but he always comes back when he gets hungry," with a laugh, he turned away from the forest, heading back into the throng of the crowd—the death eaters, disguised as he was, and Voldemort, somewhere, creeping among them, searching for Albus Dumbledore at the Convention of the Hearts Assembly of Wizards.

Not a woman in sight.

And so no men would lose their wives, but so many defenseless, weak women would grieve for their husbands. The time for reckoning was now and all knowledge was put aside. It would aid no one. Not even the great Lucius Malfoy could be spared from his leader's wrath.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

To have the name Cummings at the end of your first was to have the word good before the word happy. While Good Happy is attainable, the living style of the Cummings family was not always. They were the family on the block that owned a lot, always kept financial troubles (if any) a secret, always made sure light bulbs were properly replaced, kept up talk about getting a swimming pool someday, had a two-story house, though the second story was the attic/loft, and were never on time for appointments. They weren't perfect. They weren't terrible. 

In some aspects of their lives, they were happy; in others, they frowned. Aid for money came easily from the mother's parents, who had always believed their daughter would marry a doctor or a lawyer or become rich and famous. Sheila Cummings, who was once Sheila Ray, married a policeman. Robert never was the type for romance; he never could sweet-talk her or call her pet names she liked. He wouldn't buy her flowers on the off chance she might be allergic and he wouldn't give her jewelry because he never wanted to ask if she preferred gold to silver. He didn't usually have extra spending money, but once he did, he'd ask her to do something. They were dating a year longer than Robert hoped to-- that's how long it took him to save up for the engagement ring. After that another year to plan the wedding, and two years later, Elizabeth came into the house, screaming and yelling all the way home from the hospital.

After their baby girl, who was a handful on her own, they never planned for any more additions to the family. Robert had always wanted a boy who jumped up and down yelling to play catch with his daddy, but it was one of those dreams you could live without. And besides, girls could play catch as well as boys; at least, until they discovered fashion, nail polish, and especially boys.

The Cummings were preparing for Christmas. It would be Elizabeth's eighth Christmas, and, already knowing what to expect, she was excited. She ran through the house screaming at the top of her lungs, "Lalalala!!" Without a tune or a reason. She locked herself in a room to wrap presents clumsily, tying it up with tape instead of ribbon for the sake of the Christmas Rush. It was the Eve of Christmas Eve. Two days before all that wrapping paper and tape flew off and landing in a million different places of the living room floor and the candy canes on the tree could be eaten. Two more days left to send Santa Claus a list, or run off to the mall to see if you could catch him there and have your picture taken. Two more days of anxious waiting that could drive any child crazy. 

Robert and Sheila were discussing whose house they were going to on Christmas morning and whose they would visit on Christmas night. 

_"My parents or yours?"_

_"You know I don't want to put up with them that long."_

_"Those in-laws drive me crazy."_

_"I don't want to spend two days flying into the next country."_

***Knock, knock***

The first thought to each of their minds was, "carolers? At this hour?" Besides the time, their house was so far from the front of the neighborhood it would have taken hours for carolers to get to them on foot. Their house was in front of a forest, so there was no other road to them.

Robert got up to check the front door, but there was no one there. He looked left and right, and assumed a few kids were just playing Christmas pranks or something. He shrugged and shut the door, muttering things under his breath.

"No one there," He told his beautiful wife with a sigh. She pointed to the back door, in a silent command to check that as well, with a pan of sugar cookies in shapes of bells, Santas, reindeer, and elves. Their daughter was going to make the candy cane cookies later. Doing as he was told, and quite curious himself, Robert went to the back door, connected to the living room. The giant windows that overlooked the small lake and the forest were covered by blinds, and the glass door was as well. Instead of pulling up said blinds first, he turned the brass knob and opened the white door of the bright living room. 

A pale face, cold and wet and tired, stared back at him, gray eyes locked on his. Pale blond hair, dripping with water hung in those gray eyes. His clothes were soaked in every stitch, clinging to his skin. His cheeks were so red and his nose was as well and he shivered--due to cold. He awaited permission to come into the house, just standing there with his head up, his arms by his sides and his fists clenched tightly. His sweater heavy and a nasty cut on cheek and burns pretty much everywhere, he stood straight, not a word coming from his lips.

Still in shock, Robert let the 12-year-old boy stand in the snow until Elizabeth came up beside him. 

"Daddy, look! I wrapped your present!" She held up a small package covered in reindeer wrapping paper, with torn edges sticking out and a bow glued to the top with Elmer's. "Merry Christmas! Who are you?" She asked the boy, and he looked down to her with curiosity on his face. Quickly, snapping back to his senses, Robert invited him in and shouted to his wife to get him some new clothes.

"What's your name, boy?" He asked, as gently as possible. He tried not to speak in the same tone he used to other strangers, who were mostly criminals, considering his career of choice. He spoke to him as though he was his own child.

"I... I don't know," He asked, no longer looking at Robert, but at the living room, his eyes lingering on the tree.

"Are you a relative? Are you Santa's Elf?" Elizabeth asked, tugging on the boy's pant leg.

Sheila came from the kitchen to see the mysterious boy, asked for his name, and received no answer. She looked to her husband with a worried expression, but Robert just shook his head and shrugged.

"He doesn't know."

**************

In new clothes, borrowed from the 13-year-old troublemaker next door, he sat on the couch. A blanket draped over his shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate in his hands, there he was, Indian-style, as Elizabeth called it, and completely silent. He seemed almost happy and Sheila thought it was because Ignorance was Bliss.

He remembered very little. His age for one. He answered that question quickly, as if snapping back for something they said. Robert and Sheila had been running back and forth, making calls to various doctors to see which one of them could make a house call. When he'd been checked over, he seemed fine, despite a cold.

Surprisingly, he'd taken to their daughter quickly, treating her as though he were her older brother, knowing her and being around her for years. All, however, was an act. Perhaps it was that Christmas spirit floating around on the smell of the sugar cookies or the sight of the candy canes hanging from various branches of the tree. In any case, he was not overcome with grief of the loss of his memory. He'd already helped them cut out dough with the candy cane cookie cutter, placed it on the pan, and stuck it in the oven as the mother and daughter covered each other with flour, a game with no rules and a lot of clean-up afterwards. They didn't complain about his silence and actually embraced it, finding the opportunity to turn into the chatterboxes they were used to being. 

Now the two of them sat, wrapped in separate blankets. The boy was dozing off and Elizabeth paused in between every sentence to yawn. It was about nine or so—Elizabeth's bedtime. 

Sheila came into the room, almost hesitantly, to get her daughter. As she pushed her towards the stairs, she looked back to the boy, who watched the child go with the smallest of smiles.

"Draco?" At the mention of his name, he looked up, and with surprise, realized that it was his name. Sheila smiled at his expression and handed him a soggy piece of paper with the name Draco on it, and quite a few numbers.

"When I was putting your clothes in the wash," She began, smiling at him. "I think I found your homework in one of your pockets, Draco."

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

"I'm late! I'm late!" Arthur Weasley ran around his house, grabbing his coat and downing a cup of coffee in record time. He raced towards the fireplace, remembered he forgot his papers, and headed back upstairs to his room, shared with his wife, who was still asleep. It was only about 9:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve Eve, a Saturday, and so a time to sleep in. All the boys, and Ginny, in the midst of her very first year at Hogwarts, had come home. Ron had been a little upset at the thought of leaving Harry at the giant castle all alone. 

"After all," he'd said, before nodding off, "who would keep him company? It's not like Hedwig can talk or anything. She probably could be trained though… Or maybe we can cast a…. spell…… talking… owl," And with those wise last words, Ron had fallen asleep. Arthur smiled as he remembered, then quickly scowled as another memory came to mind. Albus Dumbledore, telling him he desperately needed to be at this convention. 

'I should not have slept in. I should not have slept in,' Arthur thought over and over. When all he needed was gathered, he kissed his sleeping wife on the cheek and left.

*************

When Arthur Weasley arrived, there were Aurors everywhere. Talking in quick sentences, shaking their heads, moving on. It was chaos. Arthur looked around for someone else from the Ministry of Magic and found no one. Where were they? And who are all these people? 

It was during these thoughts that he saw Dumbledore, lying on the grass beside countless other bodies. His eyes were open in complete terror, his face aghast. His last moments had been spent in complete terror. Burns covered his body, as well as the others beside him, and slowly, gently, Aurors placed a cover over him. Completely covered, it must have been true. Albus Dumbledore was dead.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

Minerva McGonagal, Snape, and all the other teachers sat in her classroom, grim expressions on their faces. Their brilliant headmaster was gone. News by owl travels relatively quickly, and so, they'd reached the news of his death within the hour the Aurors had found him. It had been the second day of the convention. When Cornelius Fudge had stepped into the large mansion housing the event, late, due to "important matters", he found a countless number of bodies, laying there, horror-stricken expressions on each of their faces. Dumbledore had been beside the door. Nail marks where he had clawed at it (their wands were taken from them as a precaution during the convention of Hearts) and the rest of them had been reaching for hiding places, chairs, closet doors, anything that could spare them. Lucius Malfoy had been there with his son, but while the father's body was found, Draco's was nowhere to be seen. It was assumed that he was dead as well, since there were no survivors. Arthur Weasley and Fudge, both of them arriving later in the day than the rest, were not exactly counted as survivors, since they had not been there at the time of… whatever had happened.

It hadn't seemed to be a curse, but the burns on their bodies were evident. It was hard to tell exactly what it was. They were not tortured at the times of their deaths; they were not punished for anything. They were simply killed. A part of the public of mankind was annihilated for a completely unknown reason.

"Not only have we lost a headmaster, but a student as well. Barely into his years at Hogwarts," Snape said, woefully, fighting back whatever sort of tears threatened to fall from his normally critical face. 

"What year was he, Severus? Second?" To McGonagal's question, Snape simply nodded. 

"So young," Minerva dabbed her eyes with a cloth and sniffled quite a few times.

"We should honor them in some way," Professor Treelawny suggested. "So their spirits will find a grand rest and we'll all have better fortunes. We do not want the ghost of a headmaster here. It would be… too painful for me," Minerva merely nodded, Snape rolled his eyes, but agreed to the tribute, whatever sort it would be.

And they all agreed not to tell the children right after Christmas, though some, in wizarding families, would hear of it quickly.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

"Do you like blue, Draco? Blue is my favorite color!" Elizabeth squealed. She began to munch on one of her cookies, fresh from the oven, as she covered another with frosting. Draco shook his head, frowning.

"Not blue. Green," He held up the green frosting and covered a candy cane with it.

"No, Draco! Candy canes are red! Red!" Elizabeth made no attempt to correct him politely, but forcefully, shoving the red frosting in front of him.

"I hate red. I'll not have red on one of my cookies," He said, scowling.

"Why do you hate red?"

"I don't know," He responded. Elizabeth sighed and went back to frosting. She looked to his green candy canes, to her plain red ones, and back again.

"Well, if you get to do yours green, mine are gonna be yellow. Yellow is my favorite color."

"I thought blue was," Draco said, quizzically, with raised eyebrows.

"A girl has the right to change her mind. That's what mommy says," She answered, as though she knew everything he did not.

**************

Draco was accepted with open arms into the community. It seemed nice to have someone to teach who didn't have the ignorance of a child. You didn't need to be patient with him; he was rarely patient with himself. He took it upon himself to learn just as much as anyone else did. And so, being unable to find his true parents, the Cummings adopted him, Elizabeth earned bragging rights (for her _new_ big brother!) and he was enrolled in Hunton High School. 

It was named for Harvey B. Hunton, a scholar, apparently from that area, and a rather famous chemist. However, Draco had never heard of him, and didn't care to. It just seemed interesting to him that a school be named after a person, and a dead one at that. 

In any case, he was attending there, and rapidly joined the ranks of the regulars. It was understood that this was the boy that had wandered through the woods on the Eve of Christmas Eve, strolled into the Cummings household, and attached himself to their family permanently. The news had spread all over the town. Draco Cummings' name was well known. 

Out of pity, most of the children introduced themselves, but quickly found he would not allow anyone to pity him for any reason. He rapidly made this clear to them, and most were intimidated. They were amazed at his wit and dazzled by fragments of memories he carried, of places they'd never heard of and will never visit. Something about an Alley, brooms, snakes, and black robes. A school founded by four people, but not named after any four of them. He treasured these, but he did not know why.

And then there was this man. He could never make out his face, his disposition, or his personality and ways. But for some reason, he knew this man was important and at one point in time, he might have known him very well.

Sheila wanted to enroll him in clubs, but he declined. She wanted him to be in some sort of social activity where he could spend more time with the kids his age and perhaps recall some of his old friends if his memory every did return. Club after club was refused, until finally, Sheila Cummings put her foot down and practically ordered, like his own mother would, for him to be in the band.

He played alto saxophone. He was a quick study, taking to the music, the notes, the beat, so easily, one would believe he was born with a sax in his hands. It was his calling. He could play.

Note upon note, and separated and spaced vast distances apart, entire measures of resting and waiting for his next sound to be commanded to play by the paper before him, quick thinking and fingers nearly getting twisted on the keys they were going so quickly, and a melody that really swung the entire class. When he had a sax in his hands, everyone tilted an ear to listen, closed their eyes and smiled, cheered him on and knew, by the perfect sound, this was Draco and Draco was king.

*******~:+:~*******

~~Author's Ending Notes~~ 

Well, how'd you like it? Please read and review and I promise to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Thanks for reading this. Please check back for more chapters. ^_^ 

I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks again!

……….. Maura Belle


	2. Welcome to Diomede

****

Forgetting Draco Malfoy

Chapter Two: Welcome to Diomede

A fiction by:

Maura Belle

Author's Notes: See Bottom for Disclaimer and official apology. Enjoy the fic.

Draco Malfoy brought his saxophone out of the case; letting his touch linger on the keys his fingers seemed to call home. Hesitantly, he brought the mouthpiece to his lips, already taking in the sight of the few adults heading towards work, stopping for a bit of music to, perhaps, lift their spirits before their bosses brought them crashing down again. But by chance, Draco would at least soothe them before their commute to the agonizing city. He took off his black baseball hat, which said "Bomber #21" in green letters and set it on the ground before his feet, among the crowd. His dark green jacket provided enough warmth from the sour spring winds and his fingers would get all the heat they needed moving about the keys so quickly. A quick breath and then the beginning of a small song, one that mimicked a child's lullaby, but far faster was the tune. 

The melody slithered down from the bell of the golden sax with the black keys towards the feet of the watchers, who were often so taken by the music they forgot all troubles, fears, and worries. At times, they forgot entire appointments, but never became upset about it. Listening to Draco play was always a worthy experience. 

It was almost like it was magic that swept across the streets. Sometimes, even when there were no breezes, fallen leaves will pick up from their places on the ground and move around in little cyclones and pick off those yet to fall from the small trees. Like snakes, the notes played into the on-lookers' ear and enchanted them with such happiness they believed they were dreaming. At times, they did. The joy was real. What they saw was not.

A woman named Tata by her long-since dead mother, who had been obsessed with greetings and farewells, always seemed to see the same thing. She was there—a younger version of herself—on the sidewalk and often times the streets of Diomede*, dancing with her husband once again. Always, she was featured in the streets doing the impossible. She remembered her very stubborn friends who insisted on her wearing black constantly after every song Draco played.

"Darling thought black made me look far too pale," She would say. "He preferred to see me in a nice shade of blue--a dark blue, preferably. I think I shall wear blue in heaven... when I meet him again."

(A/n: *Diomede: pronounced "dee-ah-med-ee")

And so she had made up her mind about everything, except what to do about those memories. After a dance or two, she would always want another and another, and she found herself silently, unknowingly longing for one for more than 50 years. Even after his death in the war, she'd known she wanted to clasp her hand in his and twirl her dress and smile broadly. Pale skin and deep red lipstick—he loved it. Once she'd heard Draco play, such a slow, sad, yet beautiful tune, she saw herself as a young maiden, laughing along the streets of a place she was never able to get out of. And there he was. 

He cut across the streets to reach her, ignoring the Christmas decorations she saw even now, in spring. The band still played from far off, from the inside of a radio, the singer's name unknown, but the music beautiful. He had taken her hand. Merely taken it, without a word or cue, and laid in it, a small white flower. She tucked it behind her ear like she had seen done in a film, and grabbed his hand. Then they were dancing. Turning and spinning, laughing and playing all the way. What's a dance if you don't know the steps? They made them up.

Pale skin and deep red lipstick, with a royal blue dress on and a headband pushing back her white hair—as well as stretching a few wrinkles away—graced her now, riddled with such age she could not walk without a cane. She had a mirror attached to it of course, so she could always see who was behind her. She was always wondering if he would just pop up behind her with a little smile. He would be old, too, yes, but in his old uniform. No war had ever laid a hand on him. No battle brought him down.

With one eye open, Draco saw her smiling gently. Her cane was firm in her grasp, but she held it as though she didn't need it. She was twirling in the sidewalks and the streets—in high heels and a blue dress. She watched the roads as though she were watching a movie… and she was the star.

The Mayor was a strong supporter of the Cummings boy, feeling it was good for the town's image if they welcomed a newcomer such as he. Draco had known nothing about the town, and Mayor Turbin had wanted him to be an example of what great hosts they could be. 

He had always been such a great baseball fan. That's why, when his daughter had suggested it, he'd gone ahead and signed away part of the school's property to a couple of baseball fields. Every Friday he could be seen in the stands—a hotdog in one hand, a fist made with the other, cheering on anyone he thought could win. He was always rooting for the underdog. That's why the town of Diomede thought it such an honor to lose. After all, you still get a consolation prize, right? 

A pat on the back was what his father had always given him. Every time he took a swing in the back yard with his over-used bat he ran forth to try to catch it, he got a few pointers on how to improve his one-man baseball team—one-man game. An impossible task. Impossible, however, just wasn't a word in every eleven-year-old's vocabulary. 

He had a great laugh, Turbin's father. He had a wonderful laugh. He never laughed at you, but made you want to chuckle at yourself. He gave tips, but he also disciplined. He was, in ways, the ideal father. Before his heart problem, he was also the strongest in his son's mind.

A toss. A hit. And the ball was sailing. A middle-aged man dashed to catch the ball as an eleven-year-old version of the mayor himself touched every base. The tree in front of the convenience store was first, and then the lamppost in front of the Inn was second. Third was a nickel in the middle of the street, which made the game more interesting if you couldn't find it. And finally, home was exactly where he'd started (the sidewalk) and exactly where his father was waiting.

With a laugh.

What a laugh.

Mayor Turbin's ears were shut off to music, and all he heard was a laugh that made him want to chuckle at himself. 

Look at the mistake you made, silly thing.

That was the Mayor's take on things.

But Draco's music had different affects on different types of people.

Elizabeth Cummings, now five year older, was always reminded of the first Christmas she'd spent with her older brother and the cookies that turned out rotten, except for the icing. The sight of herself in the mirror when she'd spotted all the green and yellow icing around her mouth. They had licked every cookie clean on Christmas Eve, and not bothered with any relatives, since it was Draco's first. It had been the best Christmas ever. No Aunt Phyllis to pinch her cheek, and a new big brother as a present to hug while she drifted off to sleep with dreams of Santa. She had wondered what else he could possibly give her. She was happy already.

And the next year was just as wonderful.

"That Phyllis woman's a real pain, isn't she?" Someone to talk to, to tease, and be teased by. Someone to make fun of people with. Someone to tell all her secrets, even if a few leaked out of the corners of his mouth.

When Elizabeth saw Draco playing, heard him play, she knew she had protection, a watchdog, a friend, and a confidant. She knew he was there.

They had all cried out to him with smiles even though their lips were stretched with strain, "Welcome to Diomede. Welcome home."

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

The portraits lined a very musty, and gloomy hall. They were "normal" portraits, in Muggle terms, and they didn't come alive like all the ones the students and teachers were used to. In fact, they were Muggle portraits, but hardly of Muggles. The first was Headmaster Dumbledore. Former headmaster should have been the title used on the plaque, but the professors wouldn't hear of it. They had loved him too much. A quiet, but often jittery voice, he had spoken out against so many terrible things and stood up for so much of what was right, they believed he might still be there. He was traveling the halls at this minute, with other students in tow. The first of these students was Draco Malfoy.

His body had never been found, but since many burns covered the majority of the victims, making it hard to tell who was who, they assumed that he had been completely incinerated, or had perhaps wandered off before collapsing in the nearby woods. Such a small body among so many men, and he had remained either hidden or in the most obvious place: the wind. His ashes had perhaps already been scattered. The aurors only hoped.

After the terrible assault on the large group of men at the convention, they had wondered what motives Voldemort—for he was most certainly behind this—had for killing them. They found countless death-eaters among the bodies. Why had he killed his own followers? It led them astray and they haven't left that spot. As if determined to figure out why the Earth turns and the grass grows, they stand firm and rooted in that same spot, moving back nor forth. 

The second student would perhaps be Pansy Parkinson. A lovely girl to Slytherins, but just another snot to others. She was always following Draco around, trying to hold his hand, insisting that they be "together." She was blind to his feelings, however, and never really got close to him. Even so, she was devastated by his death and had never come back to Hogwarts. Her father found a letter explaining her leave, and hinting that she might never return and decided that she had gone into the forest behind their home to kill herself. That was were the convention had been. That was where Draco had died. She was so infatuated with him; she might take it upon herself to die in the same place. But they never found her, so it is uncertain whether she walks with Draco and Dumbledore.

Ginny Weasley. Ginny herself could have been sharing the corridor with a portrait of her own, if he hadn't saved her. She remembered vividly when she'd approached Professor McGonagal with tear-stained cheeks the day of their return to Hogwarts from the holidays. The professor had been assigned the task of going through Malfoy's things and discovered a little black book with a memory in it; a memory of Voldemort's and some terrible secrets. She had taken the redhead aside and calmly explained how she could have been killed by this memory, and how, in a way, Draco's last act at Hogwarts had been one of valor.

Valor? Not to Ginny Weasley. As they had been alone in the hallway, he had used whatever methods he thought were needed to get that book from her. He threatened, and then he acted on such threats. She unconsciously put a hand to her cheek, where he had struck her. Her arm shook, where his tight grip had been. And then her eyes closed, unable to face that dark glare again. 

In Ginny's third year—the famous Harry Potter's fourth—a boy named Cedric Diggory perished as well, and everyone was completely aware of Voldemort's return. Now they moved. The aurors dashed everywhere, securing this, recovering that, understanding completely every bit of information except that provided by Harry Potter, who had been present among Voldemort and his "followers."

****

"Everyone was there! I'm sure of it! Everyone I heard was at that convention! Malfoy! Lucius Malfoy!!" Harry had screamed until most thought he was insane. The professors had desperately tried to get him to calm down, but it seemed nothing could be done to shut him up until Ron gave him a good slap.

So Dumbledore might have looked on, with young Draco at his side, Pansy trying to get closer to him, and Cedric standing tall—the champion.

As Snape walked down this hall he suddenly knew how great his responsibility was as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. He had to keep all students safe, all the time. When once everyone had thought Hogwarts to be a place of security, now it was just an ordinary school like any other, filled with secrets of finance and budget and things of that boring sort. Though he knew he would try everything in his power to throw himself before fate and keep every student protected through the rest of their days, Snape already knew that he would fall short of all that Dumbledore had done before him. His predecessor looked down on him in shame, though with a smile, from that horrible portrait that never moved, never spoke, and never breathed. It never asked for a password, nor a hello or goodbye, though many have already spoken to it. 

"What do I do?" Snape whispered, hands behind his back. 

And silence was the solemn response.

As it had always been.

As it would be without change.

**

The trip you'll be going on is strictly educational, but I won't blame you if you have a little fun. You'll be seeing how Muggles interact, observing them in a small town and making mental notes of what they do. Every night of the week of our stay, separate classes will be discussing their findings and making records of them. Not only does this aid the school, but it will also help a division of the Ministry. Questions? Raise your hands."

The Headmaster finished speaking and turned to face his audience of sixth and seventh year students. Some had fallen asleep, but Professor McGonagal took care of that problem. Others were chatting away mindlessly, but were also taught a strict lesson.

The Headmaster sighed as a few hands went up around the classroom, finding the first question to answer. 

"Yes?" Snape asked, looking in a sixth-year Hufflepuff's direction. 

"What town?" The young man asked.

"Hecubain, a very old place, believe me. Next."

Harry Potter, the famous one and in the final year of Hogwarts at last, raised his hand. "How long are we staying?" 

"One week and pay more attention." 

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry shrank back in his seat, belittled. Ginny sat beside Hermione, playing with her quill, bored, as she thought of the prospect of being in a Muggle town. She couldn't help but wonder: whom would she meet?

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

"She invited you to the Thompson's garden party?" Patty asked, attempting to grab Draco's hand and hold it in her own, but failing miserably, as he kept moving away from her, quickening his steps with hungry Lane. 

"Saturday, I think it is. Should be interesting," He responded. Patty's horrid looks turned worse when she frowned at the fact he had not asked her to be his date. After all, it was for family, and shouldn't they be married someday? In her mind, they were the perfect couple, and she'd followed him around ever since she'd moved to Diomede, which had been shortly after he had arrived. At first, the town believed she'd treated him strangely, as though they had been acquaintances already. She continued, even now, to ask him questions such as "Do you remember that?" or "Wasn't that funny when…" But he insisted that he'd never seen the girl, and everyday, hoped she was just a figment of his imagination that would float away. Tough for him, though. She would just go with her guardian, her own family—her uncle.

"Interesting? I hear they've got great entertainment lined up for that party. Live band and stuff," Lane said, as he grabbed a cafeteria tray and began loading it down with food. Only a year older than Draco or Patty, he had always been the one to treat the Cummings boy with the most respect, and even agreed to lending him things when he had first arrived. He attempted to be the one to 'show him the ropes' but it turned out Draco caught on fairly quickly, finding alleyways and twists and turns in a day it had taken Lane years to discover. All in all, this brown-haired, brown-eyed boy was his best friend, though neither of them admitted it because of 'image'. 

"She said she was bring her brother and her son to introduce to the town," Draco continued.

"I didn't think she had a brother," Patty wondered aloud.

"Or a son," Lane added. 

"Her husband was killed in the war, she told me," Draco said. "Only two months after they married." 

Patty concluded, "It doesn't seem likely she would have a kid… Maybe she adopted."

"Nah. She's lived in Diomede her whole life, my grandpa told me. Never has been seen with any children. Couldn't tolerate them until she got old and lost her mind," Lane said, snagging a milk carton from the lunch line. Patty grabbed her traditional lemonade, and Draco admitted he wasn't thirsty.

"I don't think it was the getting old that made her crazy, I think it was that she lost her husband," Patty sighed. "That sort of loss could kill a person, believe me!"

"How would you know?" Lane asked, tossing some food onto her tray, appalled at the small amount she'd had before. Before Patty could protest against his actions, Draco spoke to avoid conflict.

"Maybe someone to represent him, then. Someone who's been like a son to her," Draco wondered aloud as he passed the lines in the cafeteria. 

"My grandpa?" Lane suggested. 

"Doubt it."

"It's true he's younger than her by almost 30 years and he's real old!" 

"Rumor has it," Patty began, "… that she'll be 200 next spring. I'd shoot myself before I got that old."

"Poor Tata," Draco murmured. "She's insane."

"Maybe," Lane shrugged.

"Perhaps," Patty said, saying a longer word to sound smarter, but not exactly succeeding.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

"Shut up! I've already sold five of those!" Josef threw his arguments towards the three snickering teenagers, but gave up when Patty burst out into giggles and tears and Draco had to throw a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter from growing in volume. Lane laughed loudest as he pointed at the fake nose rings hanging in their little packages on the hooks of the display. The gas station wasn't exactly the busiest place or the 'hang out' preferred by most teens, but the three friends could at least tolerate Josef Ledger. 

The merchant frowned and leaned against the windowsill to pout. Then an idea struck him.

"Fine. You find out how hard it is to sell stuff," He muttered, as he took a permanent marker and three nametags and began to write on them. He slapped one on each unaware kid, and as they came to their senses, they stared at him with open-mouths.

Lane's name tag read "Stoop," Draco's was "Stooped," and Patty's was "Stupid." And there they were, the new employees of the only gas station in Diomede: Stoop, Stooped, and Stupid.

"Do we get money?" Lane asked, always wanting some more to spend.

Josef responded with a glint in his eye, "If you make it. Any of you know how to drive?"

They were almost afraid to answer "yes."

"There was a call that came in a few minutes before you came in. Bus broke down a little outside town. Man acted like he'd never used a cell phone before… It was really weird because he kept shouting and stuff, anyways… Oh yeah! Your job! You bring it here with the tow, and I'll fix it up, while Patty keeps shop."

"Why don't you drive the tow truck there and we'll all stay and watch the station?" Lane suggested, his mind filled with dirty thoughts of stealing a little quarter from the cash register.

"Are you insane? I don't trust you around my baby," He pat the register two times. "And besides, it's almost rush hour."

Rush hour in Diomede not only meant when everyone got off work and complained about traffic and honked their horns as loud and as often as they could, but it also meant the busiest time for the little gas station. Everyone needed gas after their long commute to the city, for another commute the next day. That was sensible, wasn't it?

So Lane drove for a while, until he tried to purposely crash into a tree. After that, Draco drove, cursing Josef and all his clever nametags as well as the fake nose rings that had caused all this trouble.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

It wouldn't be entirely difficult for a Muggle to change a tire on a motor vehicle, but a Wizard had no idea and no concept of this "car," let alone a bus. They'd already spent hours and hours pouring over the manuals to learn how to drive and turn the key, etc. Snape and McGonagal were at a loss for once, and it was discouraging the students. They were not allowed to leave the bus for any reason, and quite a few grew tired of their own friends. 

When their liberator came in the form of a rusted, old tow truck, few did not cheer. Saved, at last, right? Snape eyed it warily, wondering, as was Slytherin nature, if these mud bloods could be trusted. Then he suddenly remembered his position as Headmaster, and his vow not to judge a student or other… He cursed the vow now, as he wanted to go back to his Slytherin's prideful nature.

Lane stepped out first, then his companion, which seemed to stop the cheering. Students looked on with wide eyes and awed expressions as the pale boy approached the relieved teachers. Harry and Ron hung out the window and Crabbe and Goyle sat speechless. Were they seeing… what they thought they saw? 

"Hey. Name's Cummings," The boy said, and the students' hopes were dashed. Perhaps not as they had expected.

"Cummings?" Snape asked. "It looks to me like your name is 'Stooped'."

Draco ripped off his nametag. "That is irrelevant. What's wrong with your bus?"

"My name's Lane," The brown-haired boy butted in. "No one likes to introduce me except myself."

McGonagal nodded, warily. What odd people, she thought. She stood behind Snape a bit.

"That thing in the front popped!" A student shouted, leaning out the window and pointing to the tire. Lane snickered. Draco attempted a straight face.

"Right. We'll take a look at this _thing_…" Lane said through giggles. As they approached it, they noticed only that it had perhaps, run over a sharp edge in the road, and was, indeed, nothing more than a flat tire. They proceeded to check the engine and found nothing at all wrong with that. Though they didn't know much about cars—in fact, it amounted to nothing—they could see that nothing was snapped, bent, broken, or missing. At least, there were no holes, if you didn't count the one in the tire. As they pretended to inspect the vehicle like professionals, Draco began to whisper, "Do these people seem gullible to you?"

"What's gullible?" 

"The word written on your forehead," Draco said, sarcastically.

"Really? How'd that get there?" Lane asked, hoping he was wiggling his 'gullible' by raising his eyebrows.

"What I mean is, they'll believe anything you tell them… especially since it seems they don't know anything more about cars than you or me."

Lane nodded enthusiastically.

"So, you remember what Josef said, didn't you?"

Lane shook his head enthusiastically.

"We only get paid if we make our money."

"We counterfeit?"

"No! We fool them… just leave it up to me, okay? Play along."

They emerged from the front of the vehicle with grim expressions, Draco shaking his head, and Lane hanging his low, as though someone had just died. 

"Is it," Snape began to ask. "… that bad?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. You can still drive it, since we fixed your tire, but I would recommend you drive to the nearest town and have it looked at."

"Why?"

"Well that's about the farthest distance it can go without self-destructing, sir."

Snape paled, and then seemed to recover, as though a thought had just entered his mind.

"It's times like these that really make a guy depressed, but I'm sure you and your students will be alright," Lane said, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders slumped. "Rough times, when your bus is about to blow up with all your favorite pupils inside."

"Rough times, when your only hope is about a couple of a miles away," Draco continued.

"Rough times, when you can't do anything to help, and you feel," Lane searched for an adjective. "Feeble."

"Really rough times, when not even magic or luck can help," The Cummings boy concluded, and Snape's face fell. How had he known his intentions? Could that boy possibly have known about spells and such things, or was he just spouting words now?

Lane sighed. "Rough times, when—"

"Alright already! We'll go! Just… show us the way," Snape shouted, aggravated. Draco and Lane smirked and hopped back into their tow truck, ready to milk all the money they could out of the professors and their students.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

The entire situation was explained to Josef, who heartily agreed. He called the Inn, which seemed very eager to be filled with students as it never had been before, and even admitted it might be too large a group to squeeze in. Then Tata, the rumored unnaturally old woman called, knowing the Inn's distress and offered a few guest rooms in her Manor on the edge of the town. Everything was working out. Everyone would be getting a little extra cash flow if this large group stayed for a few days: the restaurants, the pub, the baseball field, the Inn, the gas station (which sold souvenirs), and Tata, if she asked for money in return for her generosity.

And the two boys were the heroes. They praised themselves and were offered a small percentage from each merchant who earned something that was the result of their quick thinking. It seemed Diomede was up and running better than before, looking cleaner than before, and even smiling wider.

Mayor Turbin offered to help the professors in any way he could, by paying for a drink or two at the pub, or perhaps giving them free tickets to the upcoming Friday game, but they refused. They wanted their bus fixed so they could get to their destination as soon as possible. They claimed they were on a five-day schedule, all of which, the Mayor planned for them to spend in Diomede.

**

"You know that bus-load of kids that came to the station last night?" Draco nodded in answer, the next morning at the school. "They came here! They stayed here! They're in the Inn, _and_ Tootsie's manor!!" Patty practically squeaked as she spoke, trying to keep it at a calm volume as though she were casually speaking and not about to cry.

"Yeah, I know. Lane and I gave them directions, remember? It's no big deal. They'll be gone in a few days, I bet."

"But Draco!" She protested, clasping her hands together to keep from grabbing his. "They'll find me out!" 

"Find you out?"

"And you too! You won't be able to live here anymore! They'll take us away from Diomede, Draco!" 

"Who?" 

A small scream escaped her lips and she stomped her foot against the sidewalk like a spoiled little child. "You don't get it!" She screamed. And with that, she ran off, apparently too upset to speak anymore.

Patty lived with her uncle, who was, undoubtedly, not her uncle. Joseph Brown was Josef Ledger's cousin, and always after the ladies. Though there were few who were beautiful enough to catch Joseph's eye that were not taken already as a wife or girlfriend to someone else, there was one special girl he had in mind. Jessica Carver was a very attractive young lady, and there was no denying that—no man could. But she preferred a man on the sensitive side. One that could look after a child, or appreciate flowers, as she had once been quoted. So Joseph Brown looked to adopt, as he was very serious about Jessica. Lucky him, though, a child who could cook and clean arrived on his doorstep one winter afternoon. She could take care of herself, and keep up the façade of being loved and cared for--a wonderful actress, as well. He allowed her the guest room in his small, white house, and let her come and go as she pleased. Since then, it's been rumored that Jessica Carver might be looking to date Joseph Brown, and in this town, most rumors turn to truth. Patty never talked about "Uncle Brown" much and never spoke of her odd adoption, but Draco had always thought of her as sort of a kindred spirit. They'd both been taken in at about the same time, and were both introduced to the town in the same way: through Lane.

Some of the students from a school called H. Willard High wandered around the Hunton High School campus, looking as though they'd never seen a school before. 

"Where do you sleep?" One of them asked. 

"…. At home?" Lane replied. Patty had been absent that day, later found in Uncle Brown's "guest room," hiding.

The curious student snickered. "You don't have dormitories?"

"No. We have houses."

At the mention of houses, the student backed off and stuck with the rest of his group, cautiously "interacting" with these… students.

"I don't know what makes these kids so weird," Draco said, taking a seat on the bench beside Lane. "Maybe they're foreign."

Lane shrugged, taking another bite of his apple and let his friend continue. "This one red-head kid was wondering why there were locks on lockers. He said they were useless and all you needed was a good Alohora or whatever."

"Universal key," Lane suggested. "Aloha is the brand name for a universal key that can open any lock, anywhere, anytime. Doesn't matter what make, either."

"Like Houdini."

"Houdini could pick locks. The Aloha key is legal."

"If Houdini were alive today, he would be one of those guys to chain himself up, get sealed in a box and dropped from a helicopter into the Atlantic," A new speaker announced as he took the last remaining seat on the bench, hands shoved in his black jacket. 

"Back from Hawaii?" The Cummings boy smiled.

Hector shrugged. "It was a nice enough place. I heard you talkin' about the Aloha key and I knew you wanted to ask me everything about my vacation."

Lane offered an apple. Hector refused, seeing it had five bites taken out of it already. "Are all the girls tan?"

"Very tan. My sister got a tan. I didn't recognize her by the end of the week."

Draco nodded. "That's right. You two stayed on separate islands."

"I blame the toothpaste. She started the fight anyways."

"I heard she has a great uppercut."

"She can turn you into the mirror image of Jay Leno. 'Course she has a great uppercut."

Draco's head nodded, but he had not paid any attention. He was looking at the strangest group he'd ever seen, all standing around and just staring at the water fountain. Hector looked where Draco's attention was turned, shaking his head a bit to move his black hair from his vision. 

"What's their problem?" He asked.

"They're foreign," Lane smirked. "They don't know how to get a drink."

**

"Let me show you a magic trick," Draco said, stepping through the group and towards the water fountain, motioning for them all to step back. With an easy press of a button, the water came up through the fountain and a small gasp escaped a redhead's lips. "Now… was that so hard to figure out?" He moved to step away, so the boy could try all by himself, looking off towards his friends. Hector and Lane stood beside the two girls of the group—another redhead, and one with bushy, long brown hair. 

"He's not stupid," The redheaded girl said in her brother's defense. "He's just never seen one of these things before."

"Oh, they don't have these things in H. Willard?" Draco asked, taunting. She said nothing in response, but merely glared at him and stood her ground. A black-haired boy with glasses and an odd scar spoke up in her stead, his fists clenched by his side.

"We don't live far from here," He said, as politely as possible through clenched teeth, though he couldn't imagine why he was so angry.

Draco just widened his eyes a bit in response. 

"So we're not foreigners, like you think."

He scoffed. "Then where are you from, exactly? H. Willard? I'd bet ten dollars on the spot it's a joke."

"…." The boy was silent after his first statement, as the girl had once been.

"H.W. That's something, though," And after saying that, Draco turned and left. 

**

"How could he have possibly thought H.W. was something? He wouldn't be trying to guess our real school's name… would he?" Ginny wondered aloud, watching as that "rude boy" and his friends walked off.

Harry shrugged, "Don't worry about it, Ginny. He probably doesn't have a clue."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He was just making fun of us. If I ever find out his locker number, I'll open it and mess it up so bad…" 

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "We're not to use any magic while we're here… even if this isn't the designated Muggle town." 

"I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between these Muggles anyway," Ron mumbled, upset that he wasn't able to use magic, but not at as upset as the Slytherins.

Crabbe and Goyle sauntered past their group, grim expressions on their faces, when they suddenly turned and faced Harry. "Who talked to you?" They demanded.

"I don't know, he didn't give me a name!" Harry made an attempt at defending himself from their verbal onslaught, which hadn't been much since Draco died.

"Well… you'd better know next time, you…" Crabbe sought for the words. Goyle found them. "DUM-DUMS!"

They barely noticed that they ought to be the ones laughing, not the ones they had just insulted.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

Patty dried her tears as she sat on the sidewalk in front of the gas station. Was there no place to go where they weren't? The only place that seemed safe enough was here. Despite the souvenirs, the smell of gas was too foreign a smell for the newcomers, and only a few dared to travel that far to the edge of town anyway. Most stayed around Main Street, which held the shops and the Inn. Others traveled the neighborhoods, examining the houses, meaning she wasn't even safe in her own home.

Joseph Brown stepped out of his cousin's gas station and onto the sidewalk, a Popsicle in his mouth. 

"What's up with you?" He asked her, and she immediately tried to dry the rest of her tears.

"Hey, Jo," She muttered, not feeling like putting up with him right now. "Nothing's the matter."

"Yes," He answered. "Something is. And I need to find out what so you'll fix me dinner. You don't cook well when you're upset."

Patty stifled a laugh. She knew he meant well. He just didn't know how to say things. "I don't like our visitors."

"Me neither. They took over the pub."

She laughed again and followed him home. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but if things turned to worse, at least she knew she wasn't the only one who hated her fellows.

**

"Elizabeth! Dinner!" Her mother called up to her as she sat in her room on the second floor. She heard it well enough and descended down the stairs quickly, bumping into her brother as she did. 

"Draco," She spoke on the landing as he turned on the top step to face her, saxophone in hand. "You see those visitors?" She smiled.

He smirked back, turned and started heading towards his room. "That's all anyone ever wants to talk about," He muttered. Elizabeth thought a moment, and to annoy him, decided to continue the conversation on at dinner. Her father should be interested.

"Yeah, one of those kids was trying to steal stuff with a little stick-wand," He announced as he played with his mashed potatoes, a habit for the middle-aged man. "He argued with me for fifteen minutes straight about how it _could_ work if it _had_. I just don't understand kids these days…" He went off, trailing on about how if it were up to him, the town would be run like so…

Draco smirked and politely took the opportunity of silence to speak. "Hector's back."

"Is he?" His mother's expression brightened. "Where were the twins? Hawaii?"

Draco nodded, as he was eating.

"I think Hector's a cutie," Elizabeth announced. "And I wish you would invite him over sometime, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "Oh, sure. 'Hector, why don't you come over and talk to my sister?'"

"That's not what I mean. I don't wanna talk to him. Just… stare at his beautiful--"

"If you say anything other than 'face,' it's going through the high school intercom," Draco interrupted.

"I was going to say face."

"Riiiight."

"Draco!"

"Careful of the mashed potatoes, kids! We don't want an incident like Halloween," Mr. Cummings warned and added a few more mashed potatoes to his plate, before he finished constructed an exact replica (in potatoes) of Mt. Rushmore. Mrs. Cummings slapped his hand as a warning and he began to eat Lincoln's face, then Washington's. 

"Oh, and uh… Mrs. Phillips invited me to the Thompsons' garden party."

"Did she?" His mother was once again involved in conversation, enthusiastically. "Well, that's very kind of her. Is she introducing her family?"

"It's a tradition," His father began to announce. "That at every party, you must introduce part of your family to the town. That way, we know more people, and they're kin, too!"

"I know all about that," Draco said. "I was introduced at your Christmas party, remember?"

Elizabeth frowned. "I thought it was New Year's."

"It was New Year's/Christmas/Valentine's Day," Draco took the last of the mashed potatoes, greatly disappointing his father.

"Valentine's… Oh, yeah! Because Tata's operation was on Valentine's Day, so she wanted to have the party early!" Elizabeth's epiphany astounded only her.

"Call her Mrs. Phillips!" Her mother scolded. "To call her by her first name is disrespectful."

"Sorry, Mummy," She apologized. After that, conversation was only of future plans, such as the upcoming party, and, more importantly, the high school prom. 

End Chapter Two. You have been officially welcomed.

*****

Author's Notes:

Ah! I know that first part might've been a bit… er… odd, but it was your introduction to the odd people of Diomede. Btw, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters (disclaimer) they all belong to J.K. Rowling, lucky girl. So sorry that chapter was a bit late. By the time ff.net was down I was through proofreading and double-checking and once it was up, I was on vacation. You know how summer is. Family reunions and helping your grandmother move into a new house and such things keep you from fictions. Reality is too tough to deal with in the first place; I'm surprised I find time for little Draco Malfoy. ^_^

Truly,

Maura Belle.


	3. Preparing to Confess

Chapter Three: Preparing to Confess

Author's Notes: this chapter is dedicated to maurie. ^_^ thanx, babe!

The man's stumble and swagger just earned him odd glances from the people passing him on the street, but the way his hood draped up and over his forehead, shadowing his face would frighten them. But what did he care? What sort of life did he have left, to care about what other people thought? He didn't even exist, for all they cared. He had been pushed from his own home into a shack with thirty other men, where some didn't even care to keep themselves clean. He had lost his family--a caring mother and father who had always financially supported him and his own. Still, there were some aspects of his life that remained to please him.

He hadn't seen his darling wife in quite some time.

Yes, no more howling from her, and no more orders about what he should do here or there. She tried to control politics through him, and had always been as vain and as selfish as possible. It was funny how she could turn from the devil's own to a perfect little angel once company came over... not that he entertained much anymore. 

No, you don't get too many visits when you live in a shack--especially not with thirty other men who rely on their own stink to wake them up in the morning.

It was funny how life worked that way: one day you're a millionaire, living with a howling wife you've just ordered confined to a guest room in a completely different wing of the house with a miniature you wanting to know how his father ran things in business and follow him around for a day on the job. The next day, you're wallowing in misery, hating your boss's guts for the world and even wishing you could see your terrible wife again. 

He reached the edge of the forest, looked up and down the length of the trees, and then stumbled in. As he passed the charred remnants of a building that had once graced the sky with 17 floors, he paid the rubble no mind. He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to catch a glimpse of it. 

Those ruins were, after all, where he'd died.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

Patty walked through all her classes as though they hadn't even happened yet, still in a daze. In fact, she might have walked back to her first period once or twice, and could only vaguely remember Hector directing her down the right hall. She blocked out all sound, so she didn't answer when called upon, and only picked up small pieces of conversation from her friends.

"No, no, Patty. The lunchroom is this way..." Hector muttered, trying to keep his voice soft so the students of H. Willard wouldn't think all Hunton's pupils were this out of it. He caught sight of Draco and Lane halfway through the lunch hour.

"Do you have any idea what's wrong with this girl?" He asked, through clenched teeth, waving in Patty's general direction, where she picked at her food.

"Maybe it's that she's eating her salad with a spoon..." Lane muttered, putting a finger to his chin. Draco shook his head, "Looks fine to me."

"She's not normal at all--She keeps wandering into the wrong classes and her eyes do this weird thing like she's not alive or something," Hector looked at her now as she didn't even notice he was talking about her. Normally, he would get a slap in the face and a sore toe from one of her high heels, but today seemed unusually calm.

"She slept all through chemistry. That's normal," Lane offered. Draco nodded, even if he didn't take chemistry. Their companion sighed and left the table with three men staring after her and a full bowl of salad. She forgot her spoon.

***

Ron Weasley was tired of being pushed around by Muggles. Sure, a lot of them were nice, but there was this one group that just kept getting on his nerves. Punks--that's all they were. A mess of punks. Punks that were all just a mess. He wanted to put curses on every one of them--horrible, nasty curses that lingered and tortured for weeks on end. He formed a plan in his mind, thought it too vile to get away with, and discarded it as something a Malfoy would do.

If any of the Malfoys were still alive.

With a shudder, he stopped leaning against the flagpole and stood straight. Harry approached him and together they began complaining about the Muggles behavior towards them. Some were overly friendly, and others just cast the oddest glances they'd ever received. Something had to be done, but Hermione served as the brains for the group, and she was presently speaking with Ginny on the rudeness of the opposite sex. As Ron was busy being angry, he noticed an odd look grace Harry's features, as though confusion had set in and threw his train of thought off the tracks.

That Cummings boy was passing them. 

Harry's brow furrowed, as he appeared lost in thought, and not one to be left out, Ron began searching his own memory for any time (rather than the water fountain or the bus incident) that he might've seen this fellow.

"I've seen him before..." Harry muttered, a frown etched on his face. Ron nodded, feeling the same sense of deja vu. 

The lunch bell rang, interrupting their thoughts.

***

"Nope, sorry. Can't fix 'er," Josef lied. Draco smirked from behind the auto magazine he was pretending to read, keeping his face hidden so that if he started laughing, he could pass it off as a cough. Lane was trying on some of the fake nose rings, and Pansy was absent. 

"What's wrong with it? Is it in the engine, or—" 

"You got problems all over that overgrown van of yours. It's gonna have to be here for about a week," Josef finished polishing off a popsicle, and threw the sticky stick at the red-faced man in front of him. Whatever sort of nightgown he was wearing was starting to creep the gas station owner out, and he wasn't exactly planning on practicing his manners on this guy. "Don't worry—it won't cost _that_ much."

Draco laughed, then suddenly began coughing. 

An infuriated professor stomped out of the gas station, accidentally brushing the shoulder of a young girl who was heading inside. The girl turned around, short hair curving around her red cheeks. She'd never been so nervous before, but it was the only way to stop the guilt trip she'd been on lately.

Ignoring the amount of homework she had at home with "Uncle Brown" for acting dazed in school all day, Patty clenched her fists and gathered her courage.

"Excuse me… Professor Snape?"

The man stopped in his tracks. That voice…

******

Author's Notes:

^_^;; yeah, yeah, it's short and it's late, but I've been busy with homework and such. i just switched schools, and the adjustment is no playground. So, I guess I'm relating to little Draco (even though I never thought I would) but hey, like him, I made a couple friends easily enough. It's the work that bugs me. I've got a few more chapters logged up in my head (planned, not written) and you can all thank maurie for motivating me to get this new chapter up and inspiring the next few chapters. 

Truly,

Maura Belle


	4. A Familiar Face

**Forgetting Draco Malfoy**

**Chapter Four: A Familiar Face**

**A fiction by:**

**Maura Belle**

**Author's Notes: I don't own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy. Believe me, if I did, you'd know.**

            The next morning, the saxophone sounded, clear and ever present as always. The song was the same, and one of Draco's favorites, but today, he noticed, as did the passersby, that the melody was softer, lighter, and was weighted down with sadness. What Draco was upset about, no one asked, and the boy himself made no movement to inquire or search in his mind why his pace today was slower. He marked it off as another bout of depression, which he had tackled quite a few times in his day. 

            He had nothing to be upset about. He was lucky; luckier than anyone else could have been before him. He had survived—survived some horrible accident, which had killed both his parents, assuming, and he had found himself a new home; a good home. He was in a good town, with good people. 

            He had survived.

            That wasn't the most important. He could have survived and wished he hadn't. He could be in the most horrible place in the world, where everyone was so nice and kind and continued to be even though they hadn't known what sort of actions he had committed previously or where he had come from. At least he wasn't in the kind of place that just took in strangers like him without question, fed him, clothed him, and kept him for five years. He was proud of himself for being led someplace where everyone asked questions and tried to find out where his real parents were, or what in the world his past was like.

            Draco's eyes were opened suddenly, and he realized that he had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a saxophone case in his hand for a while now. How long had it been since he'd played? How long had it been since he'd cared? 

            Five years? Five years? Was it five years already? For all he knew, all he had lived was five, long, cold, lonely years, and through five winters he had wanted to take off his shoes and march barefoot in the snow—to leave as he'd arrived—to stand on the mat and wave good-bye, and watch as they let him kindly pass, for they would certainly just let him go about on his own. He would find an overturned car or a burnt-down house or an abandoned one that showed signs of robbery or struggle. He'd giggle at the sight of blood and just be happy he knew what happened. He'd pick up his mother's coin purse and his father's hat and take her pearls from around her neck and dash off with his wallet. He'd cry for joy when he'd read his real last name. He'd pull their bodies off to a softer spot in the snow. He'd dig with his fingers and his nails would chip and fall and his fingers would turn a horrible blue before he would ever reach the depth he'd want. He would dig and dig and dig until he reached the center of the earth, and he'd pull the bodies down with him. 

            Then with a laugh, he'd look up and realize he himself had no way of getting out. 

            He would look at his mother, dressed in her best dress and he'd dust off the dirt from her hair as he'd lay down beside her. Unceremoniously, he would straight the jacket that was to keep her warm on their winter drive through the country, or as she ran from their house as it burned, or as she stepped out into the frozen garden to encounter a thief in want of her jewelry. 

            He would arrange his father's muscles so that he looked as proud as he probably did when Draco came into the world. He'd fit the dead flower stalk back into his breast pocket and straighten his neatly combed hair. 

            And then, trying to imagine himself in something other than the dirt encrusted clothes he wore, and picturing himself in a wonderful suit as he had arrived in, he would take his place in between them. He wouldn't picture them fighting or her throwing dishes at him or him striking her. He would imagine her sitting, combing her blonde hair, taking in her beautiful image in the hallway mirror. He would imagine him opening the giant, wrought iron gates to their home while telling him he had much business to attend to, and that it was all for his future.

            He would sit and let the snow cover them, and not even want to brush it from his face. He'd listen as the search parties and the dogs went out, looking for him aimlessly, hopelessly, and by then, he would be shivering under his snowy blanket.

            Father, protect me, he'd think, believing with all his heart that he was heard. He'd find he can't turn his head, his neck was too frozen and stiff, and his eyelids wouldn't open themselves. He'd be sleepy and drowsy, and then, he'd stop thinking altogether, and admit that it was time for him to stop living that sort of dream life in Diomede and start being where he ought to be.

            Someone take me home, he thought, hoping his most sincere wishes would reach someone that could.

\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/

            Ginny was having the time of her life. While she watched Hermione relive her Muggle childhood, she herself, became immersed in the crowds and the clarity that the wizarding world had, though in different colors. She could see the way people interacted here was much friendlier, the sort of attitude she'd seen her parents display towards others. She realized that the people in this town were mostly old-fashioned, and that that was the term for it. 

            She was a prize to the boys, and was treated rather politely by them when she visited the school with her friends. To the girls, she was a new member of the group, and was often invited to stay over at someone's house for the upcoming weekend. Though Ginny declined every offer made to her, and the rules had a firm sticking in her head, she never managed to feel upset in this sort of place.

            What could bother her?

And then, just when she thought life was better than it ever had been before, it got better. It's not exactly what'd you call typical for a teenaged girl to believe that her most humiliating moment was also her best, but that is exactly what Ginny thought as she stepped down from the school steps on the Thursday afternoon. School had just let out, and she had just finished chatting with a new friend as she stood at the door, watching her go. A few other crowds and cliques of people came out, laughing and chattering happily and making their weekend plans that would ultimately start tomorrow. 

            Finally, Ginny gave up her observations of the Muggle school, as she had been assigned, and started to walk off. She had not noticed that she had finished walking down the steps and was now at the great brick wall that divided the school from the street, just as she did not notice the crack in the sidewalk, or the little chip of stone that caused her to trip.

            It seemed to take forever for her to fall, and when she finally thought she'd reach the ground and be able to cry, partly from humiliation, but mostly from the injuries she knew she was about to suffer, she found that she wasn't staring at the ground at all, or even at blood or a cut, or anything even remotely painful, save her savior's tight grip on her arm.    

            Ginny's eyes were still closed as he spoke.

            "Well, that was certainly a close call, there, wasn't it?" His voice was calm and smooth, as though he hadn't been fazed by what he even said.

            Ginny opened her eyes wide, as she was still in shock, and more than a little frightened.

            "Hey, miss? Are you gonna be alright?"

            She shook her head fiercely and gripped the arm that was gripping her and then suddenly gasped. She looked up and was met with a dark gaze stranger than any that she had ever come across. It wasn't his expression or anything about his eyes that really bothered her, but it was more the way he was looking at her—a way she was sure she was mirroring back to him. Really, it wasn't the fall that made her feel so humiliated. It was the amount of time they took, sitting there on the pavement in front of that brick wall… just staring at each other. To Ginny, it was an eternity that seemed to stretch much longer than needed, and she couldn't help but think that she had felt that fluttering in her stomach somewhere before.

            She knew she had never been this nervous or excited around Harry, or any other boy at Hogwarts, and it was just her luck that when she finally met a guy who made her flutter the way she did, he had to be a Muggle, and it had to be three days before they left for home.

            "I.. I…" Ginny began to stutter, trying to think of a way to break the silence and stop the procession of students that kept walking past them with their quizzical gazes. "I… I have to go—" She released her grip on his arm, but he kept his. Now they were both on their knees, halfway to a standing position.

            He suddenly seemed to realize his mistake, and he let her sleeve go. "I'm sorry, I just… I thought you looked… I thought we might've… met before."

            "It's alright," Ginny breathed, and leapt up off the ground so quickly that for a moment she had to lay a hand on the brick wall and steady herself. Her eyes blacked out and she began to feel a little dizzy. She waited for her nerves to calm, and while she did so, realized that the boy may have just tried to pick her up! 'Have we met before' was one of those dangerous pickup lines that her mother had told her to always be careful of. Another was 'what's your sign' and both always led to hazardous situations that good girls, such as Ginny herself, should not become involved in. If he was trying to get a date, he was doing an awful job of it. He seemed more confused than he did confident. When she regained her sight and was able to steady herself, he was standing in front of her, and at his full height, she realized he was comfortably taller than she.

            "Are you sure you're… alright?" He looked at her skeptically. "I don't normally do this, but, uh," The boy donned a look of frustrated nervousness as he tried to spit the words out. "… can I walk you back?"

            Ginny was shocked to find she was actually _considering_ it. She refused the boy's offer politely, or at least as politely as one could without getting him disappointed, and found she made up some really awkward excuse. Embarrassed at having to turn him down (for reasons she could not fathom) she began to dash off, walking as quickly as possible, and making sure to avoid any more cracks in the sidewalk.

            Lane walked up to his best friend, as he had been casually standing on the side watching the entire thing play out. "Ouch! Draco! Denied!" He gave him a tender punch in the shoulder, and Draco shot him a glare that might have ended his life had someone not stopped him.

            It was the redheaded girl. She had run back to him and grabbed his arm and was now in the process of dragging him off.

            "Draco? Hi, I'm Ginny. Nice to meet you. Walk me back."

            Draco could not suppress the surprise that immediately befell his expression, and as he turned to see Lane and Hector giving him four great thumbs up. 

            "It just goes to show," Hector said, giving Draco an even bigger smile, "That you always introduce yourself to a lady."

            "It's polite!" Lane announced, and the two of them walked off to go roll some houses.

****

            Snape took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, as he took in all that Patty had said through her blubbering. He rested his eyes, tired from focusing on her and asking her questions all night through, and looked around the room at her "Uncle Brown," who scuttled about everywhere with a limp, resulting from a pain in his right leg. He carried a cane here and there, but obviously preferred to go without it, and every time he tried to stand straighter, he would gasp and grip his right leg. This was quickly followed by a soft string of whispered curses as he would blame his pain on the couch or the table or whatever he had bumped into, and then he would quickly mutter "Sorry, sorry about that, forgive me, I'm sorry." 

            Despite his entirely slow manner and his occasional fits, the man got around rather well and ended up doing a lot of housework while Pansy was telling her story. She had to stop her crying and explaining quite a few times, however, since Uncle Brown could never really do anything right and didn't seem to know how anything worked, with the exception of the light switch.

            What made Snape more curious than ever was a little observation he made every time this man would bump into something, he would seem to be tempted to reach into his left jacket pocket. Every time, this man restrained himself, but not quickly enough for Snape to ignore it.

            The Headmaster's head lowered and he closed his eyes in deep thought. When he opened them again, Pansy was sitting a little straighter in her chair and was reapplying her makeup. 

            "Thank you, Pansy. You've been a great help to all of us," But she only looked at him and sniffled, as though she were going to start crying again. But Snape already had a headache so he tried to smile at her. "I'm very proud of you, Pansy. You're a very brave girl."      

            "B… but," She began again, "What am I supposed to do? I've missed five years of schooling, Professor! I'll never catch up! I can't go back! I just can't!" She pulled out a tissue from a nearby box, held it up to her nose, and made a sound, which reminded Snape sorely of the bus's breaking down. "I'm just," She began to mutter, fresh tears streaming, "… so tired. I followed him here and since I showed up, he's paid me no mind at all! He doesn't care for anyone in this town! He just stays with them out of his own shame, you know!"

            Snape unconsciously leaned forward in his chair, his interest piqued and showed. "And… what is Draco ashamed of?"

            Pansy scoffed and curled her fists around her tissue so much that the skin on her palms cracked and dripped blood, as though to demonstrate just how upset she really was. "Every pureblood's pride:" She spat, "He thinks he's better than them."

            "And he's ashamed," Snape finished, finally, and decided not to act just yet on Pansy's information. He told her that he would wait until he knew more about how Draco arrived and his current status with the people of the town. If they were too attached to him, if they saw him as a youthful prize and had invested in him too much already, they would have a hard time letting go of the boy, but what scared the Headmaster the most was the thought that Draco may not want to leave.

Pansy eventually ended up crying herself to sleep, after admitting it wouldn't be the first time she would not feel rest because of Draco Malfoy. As her sobs began to slowly quiet, Joseph waved his hand toward the door. 

            "You can let yourself out," He said to Snape, not bothering to hide the spite in his town as he turned his back on the Headmaster and proceeded down the hall. When Snape had first seen this man outside his home, he had brilliant control and endurance, and managed his pain so well that no one would suspect anything. He managed to walk rather normally, and made the cleverest excuses for carrying around the occasional cane, but when at home, he lost his strength and became lazy with his walk, and so his limp had become quite evident to anyone near him. He hobbled about freely, still able to get from place to place, but not without his share of difficulty.

            And so if Pansy had been listening from upstairs, still awake, she would have suspected nothing, for she would have thought that Snape was only talking about her Uncle's handicap when he turned to face him from the door.

            "And you," Snape responded coolly, "can drop the act."

            Coming to a dead halt in the hallway, Joseph turned around slowly, and for the first time in five years, really smiled.

\ * / ~ \ * / ~ \ * /

            Hermione and Ron were walking together down Diomede's streets, enjoying the calm of the cool spring day and looking through shop windows together, debating on whether or not they should buy some Muggle items for Mr. Weasley's collection. Harry trailed slowly behind, trying not to get too involved in their conversation, as he didn't want to intrude, but staying close enough that they didn't say anything about his being left out. Harry didn't mind it too much, as he was rather used to being ignored, but once he'd had a taste of what friendship could be, he found that he was beginning to miss it as he turned more and more into that third wheel. He watched them interact with a small twinge of jealousy as the couple before him turned their jokes and comments into excuses to hold the other's hand or to snake an arm around the top of their shoulders. Hermione and Ron had never really officially dated in their school years, and the ironical thing about that was the reason. Their fears were being realized and Harry was left out, but it seemed in their happiness they didn't notice. 

            They snuck off places with or without checking to see if Harry had enough company to keep him calm, they whispered little things to each other about where they would meet when they thought he wasn't listening, but the worst of these, were their attempts to play matchmakers between him and Cho.

            In their third and fourth years, he and Cho had dated, but towards the end of the fourth, she started to talk to that Cedric Diggory more, going along with the rest of the school's opinion about him being "the Real Champion." She played Harry until she lost interest in him, and eventually started to date Cedric. She left Harry for him. And then he died.

            She hadn't spoken to Harry since the tragic event, but he was almost sure he was being blamed for it. Harry marked his fourth year as the worst year of his life, and left it at that to move on. He had no intentions of getting back with Cho or with anyone for that matter. He was rather concentrating on his future with the Ministry as an Auror, and the eventual defeat of the Dark Lord. 

            But Hermione and Ron's minds were focused on much more trivial things, such as romance, and at that notion, Harry scoffed.

            In fact, it was right in mid-scoff when Harry happened to look to his left and see Ginny. Ginny was walking along the sidewalk, gripping the arm of… of…

            "Aaauu….. uuggh…. Eeee…." He could not force out the words, so the dumbfounded Harry merely yanked Ron over to his side. Hermione, now glum and very disappointed, looked over to where the boys were staring…. And she saw nothing. 

            "What was it?" She asked, and received two very cold stares from some very red faces. "What?"

            "It… was…. I… What… How… No… NO!" Ron lost all sanity and collapsed against Hermione, an astonished expression on his otherwise blank face.

            Harry did his equal share of mumbling and then found a word he rather liked and stuck with it all the way back to the Inn. "Why…. Why…. Why?" 

***********

            Draco began his walk towards the Inn, but when they were nearly there, was diverted by the tugging of the arm on his that led him down a different road. 

            "I'm not in the Inn," Ginny admitted, "There wasn't enough room for everybody, so this kind old woman offered us rooms in her home. All we had to do was dust everything off a little."

            Draco merely nodded, sensing that she was uncomfortable and talking would help her deal with things that were currently swarming her thoughts. "She's a really a nice old bird. I haven't met any older person with such a good temper or a dance teacher. When we arrived, she was doing the Fox Trot with this young Spanish man and laughing her head clear off! He wasn't really all that bad looking, either, but I don't suppose she could date him. They've got to be sixty years apart. She just calls him Mr. Instructor because I don't suppose she can remember his name, but she is… Her name is… Phelps? No, wait, it started with a T. Am I rambling? I feel like I'm rambling and that maybe I'm intimidating you with all my talking. Oh! I can't believe I did it again. See, this is why I don't have a boyfriend, I talk too much and I overanalyze and I'm such a head case that no one will bother with me!!"

            As Ginny breathed, Draco sort of smirked. "It's Tata Phillips, though a lot of the kids have gotten into this habit of calling her Tootsie. She thinks it's a compliment, saying that she's sweet, but really, a lot of the little boys say it because she has 'rolls.'" He paused a moment on the long, deserted dirt road to think. "Actually, I'd say she's in pretty good shape for her age." All of this had been said as he kept a pretty clear eye on the road before them, not looking at her, though he could feel her gaze on him, analyzing him just as she said she might. But presently, his head turned and he met her warm gaze with a surprisingly colder, harsher stare, one that was rather uncharacteristic of the way he'd presented himself thus far. 

            "And I don't mind the rambling."

            For a moment, Ginny took him in, and they kept their eyes on each other as they walked, eventually having to stop for fear they might run into something. She studied him as though he was behind glass, feeling as though she could look all she wanted, but she'd never be able to figure it out.

            "You're him, aren't you?" 

            Draco frowned, and a curious expression rushed over his features rather suddenly. "Who?"

            "Draco. I mean, how many parents would name their son Draco? There can't be a lot of you in the world."

            There was a pause as she looked to her feet and began to think, muttering things and counting on her fingers as though making calculations of his history. Then she looked up, and all reason or logic that she might have been prepared to voice fell, and she felt compelled to say something out of context, as she almost always did. 

            "You look just like him," She mumbled, as though she didn't want him to catch it. Silently, she thought of the way he would always greet her in the hallway, and then the way he'd been forced to ignore her if there was a crowd around. He gave her no special attention in public, probably because of her brothers. Ron had always been a little too overprotective, but on the occasions when she actually was alone, when she was late for class or had lagged behind on purpose, just to see him, he would always snatch her away to a little corner, if only to ask where she was going, and it was nice just to talk to him. Was she talking to him now?

            "Draco?" 

            The boy looked at her and wondered just how insane this girl could be. She had obviously tripped over a few many cracks in the sidewalk in her day. "Hm?"

            "AHA!"

            Draco jumped back a bit, as she had released her hold on his arm to point an accusing finger. "No one would answer that quickly unless it was their real name. Draco is your real name! I found you!"

            Her arm began to sink slowly until it found its former place by her side, and she just continued to smile at him. Draco was caught off-guard. What was she talking about? He had no idea what this girl thought she knew about him, but as he had his own thoughts to tend to, he wasn't prepared for what she did next.

            She hugged him.

            Draco felt an insuppressible need to hug her back, wanting to believe that he just felt sorry for the girl. She began to cry into his shoulder, and as she did, he gave himself some time to try to clear his mind. Had she found him? Did she know where he had been before? Not realizing what he was doing, his grip on the girl had tightened as he pulled her into a clearer embrace and his face had buried into her hair as though he had done these actions before, as he felt comfortable doing them. His previous nervousness and uncertainty had faded and he was left with a sense of confidence, which he nearly swore was familiar. At the same time, however, he felt sort of smug and proud of himself, and though he pushed away this pride easily, he wondered where it had come from.

            As he thought, her sobs began to subside, and she only stayed in the hug, not for consolation, but for her own comfort. "I've missed this."

\ * / ~ \ * / ~ \ * /

            Josef sat at the desk in his little gas station/mini mart, depressed at the direction his life had taken him in the last few years. He'd been unlucky from the day he graduated, and it hadn't left him just yet. His cousin, Joseph, stepped through the door casually, ignoring the bell's ringing. His hand was nervously twitching inside his pocket, and as a subconscious reflex, Josef's hand went to his own.

            "Don't tell me you haven't noticed them," Brown was breathing heavily, and wincing as though he was in pain. He must have run here, Josef thought. But that was insanity! He couldn't have run on his bad leg! It was impossible. Josef popped out of his seat and quickly pushed it over on its whining wheels towards the staggering man. As he sat, the pain was relieved from his injury, but his breathing had yet to slow.

            "I've noticed," Josef admitted. "Who couldn't?" He hoped that conversation would take his friend's mind off his pain. He kneeled down so they were eye to eye. "What's going on?"

            Joseph Brown didn't answer.

            "C'mon, tell me, Joseph."

            But as he had just caught his breath, a fear rose in his eyes.

            "No one's here, you can spit it out."

            He stuttered and hesitated; both panic and dread finding comfortable places in his ever-tightening throat and chest.

            "_REM_—" 

            In the fastest movement of his life, Joseph Brown had covered his cousin's mouth with his own hand, though his other was still lodged in his pocket. "It was the Parkinson girl," He began, "Pansy. She spilled everything to Snape. He knows."

            The hand slipped from Josef's mouth, and he was able to speak again. "What… exactly did she say?"

            "Everything she knew about Draco. That boy's in trouble…. Josef."

            "So, nothing about us then?"

            Joseph's nervousness returned, and sensing this and his hesitation to speak, Josef eyed him suspiciously, before letting out a string of curses that were hardly called for.

            "She knew?!"

            "No! No, she wasn't smart enough to figure it out! It was _him_."

            "What?!"

            "It was my limp. It gave it away—I, I just…I forgot—Snape used to be a Death Eater. He was probably present when You-Know-Who gave it to me." A grim atmosphere befell the station as both men sat, pondering things. They were so intent on figuring it out, and so wrapped up in their own thoughts, that they didn't ever catch the sound of uneasy breathing coming from two boys in the storage closet, who muffled their panic attacks only by the toilet paper they had been preparing to smuggle out.

****

I know, I know. It will just never end. But at least summer has given me some more time to write and that's a plus, right? My deepest apologies to all who were waiting for this fic. It's got to have been, what, three years since I last updated? Oh well. I had this serious case of writer's block when I finished my last chapter, and I just could not figure out where to go from there. In fact, this chapter alone might've taken me like a week to finish just because of my incredible perfectionist quality. But aside from that, I know where I'm going with this now, and it's not just an intro anymore—this is the real thing! It's actually moving! Plot! I've got a plot! Stay tuned. I maybe be updating as soon as I get some reviews. Too much to ask? I dunno, fellas, I think you can make it. (haha)

Peace, love, and all that jazz,

Maura Belle


End file.
